


Defying Laws (but make it the laws of death and time)

by remusmooneylupin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Andromeda adopts Harry Potter, Animagus Harry Potter, Animagus Lily Evans Potter, BAMF Ginny Weasley, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Luna Lovegood, BAMF Minerva McGonagall, BAMF Neville Longbottom, BAMF Sirius Black, Bellatrix is Awesome, Bisexual Ginny Weasley, Bottom Harry Potter, But WHO?, Dark Harry Potter, Dumbledore's an idiot, Dursley Family Bashing (Harry Potter), Eventual Merope Gaunt/Tom Riddle sr., Everyone Is Alive, Evil Albus Dumbledore, Evil Molly Weasley, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fred Weasley Lives, Gay Harry Potter, Gay Sirius Black, Ginny Weasley is a Good Friend, Ginny is amazing, Good Death Eaters, Harry Potter Has a Different Name, Harry Potter is the Heir to the House of Black, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Harry Potter's Name is Hadrian, Harry in an orphanage, Healer Harry Potter, Heir of Gryffindor Harry Potter, Heir of Hufflepuff Harry Potter, Heir of Ravenclaw Harry Potter, Hermione Granger Bashing, I tell you, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, M/M, Magical Inheritance, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Mentor Minerva McGonagall, Minor Dean Thomas/Ginny Weasley, Minor Severus Snape bashing, Molly Weasley Bashing, OOC Harry Potter, Order of the Phoenix Bashing (Harry Potter), Past Ginny Weasley/Harry Potter, Protective Minerva McGonagall, Pureblood Harry Potter, Pureblood Lily Evans Potter, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Ravenclaw Harry Potter, Ron Weasley Bashing, Seer Luna Lovegood, She's Amazing, Shit ton of tags, Sirius Black Escapes from Azkaban, Sirius Black Free from Azkaban, Slytherin Harry Potter, Smart Harry Potter, The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible, Time Travelling Tom Riddle, Tons of Them, Top Tom Riddle, and Potter, and is sorted into hufflepuff, and merope, and merope gaunt, and more - Freeform, because I love him, but do i care, but i already did, but not really, but not slytherin, but we vibe, but we'll get to that later, dONT DENY IT, gay king sirius black, harry's rich as shit, harry's secretly an aspiring dark lord, he always was, he has followers, hermione granger and ron weasley are bad friends, im alive but im dead, im not going to spoil the plot, including tom riddle sr, is that even a question, minnie loves harry, narcissa is a cool mother, narcissa isn't a black, nymphadora tonks is the same age as harry, she gets in on her second year, so is lily, so molly gets mad, soft queen, that's tommy boy's job, there's so many tags, tom riddle sr is alive, well escapes, with someone else, you'll get it later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:29:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27998286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remusmooneylupin/pseuds/remusmooneylupin
Summary: The Potters were never ones to follow rules anyway. Especially James. But we don't talk about that.Time Travellers show up in 1992, but they're not really time travellers.Everything changes for the better. But does it really?Is this even a summary?-HERMIONE GRANGER, RON WEASLEY, MOLLY WEASLEY, ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, PETUNIA, VERNON AND DUDLEY DURSLEY BASHING (along with MINOR Severus Snape bashing cos he's a git)
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Draco Malfoy/Fred Weasley, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Severus Snape, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Marcus Flint/Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood, Merope Gaunt/Tom Riddle Sr., Narcissa Black Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Neville Longbottom/Blaise Zabini, Past Ron Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, past Ginny Weasley/Dean Thomas, past Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson - Relationship
Kudos: 77





	1. Prologue

Silence. Nothing could be heard except the small wrinkling of the yellow and copper leaves on the ground, the shuffling of the looming trees, creating shadows where the full moon was meant to be shining. The occasional chatter of nearby homes, as families celebrated the joyous day of Halloween, their houses pathetically decorated in orange and a jet black, pumpkins and other ornaments hanging around outside, bowls of sweets generously laid out in front of doors, including many things that the short boy in black wished he could eat. But he could never, not at a time like this. Trees swayed from side to side, the wind howling at the cold chill that Autumn left behind, almost cackling in glee at the trail of devastation it left behind, crinkled leaves falling down slowly, wavering slightly as they dropped onto the, if not more, cold ground. Houses lined up against each other, separated by fences painted in black, not a scratch on them in sight. Except for one house. People tended to stay away from that house if they could see it, that is. It was destroyed, the hinges of the once-neat, small fence were crooked and the gate that was attached to it had been struck off of its hinges. Overgrown plants littered the house, crawling up the cracked walls of the cottage. It looked as if the white, wooden door had been blasted open, or perhaps forcefully opened in a very aggressive way, nobody dared go inside, not even the neighbourhood teenagers who vandalised alleyways and threw around empty spray cans at old people. Nobody liked being near it, it seemed to have a sad and death-filled atmosphere. The top left of the house had been dismantled, the wall and the roof above completely gone, and if you looked hard enough, you could see the faint outline of a crib dressed in soft green and white wood, old, sewn toys littered across the ground, some once-white stuffing pouring out of a few. The rest of the house looked no better, there were no windows. Only the outlines of where they were supposed to be, dust filling your nose whenever you even got close to it. Large burn marks imprinted on the open-walled room, looking like an outline of a body. For those brave enough, they'd see a ruined kitchen, dining room and living room, unwashed dishes laying forgotten in the sink, creaky, broken staircase flooring, loose floorboards, the dining table had been rid of its legs and torn into pieces. There were rumours about the home, that one night, the last family that had lived there had been attacked, the parents murdered ruthlessly, the father dying, protecting his wife and son, and the mother, setting herself in between her son and the attacker, both of their deaths had been obvious, there were always faint, piercing screams, much like a woman's, and sometimes a man's, saying an unfamiliar name unknown to most of the inhabitants of the famous, yet not, and small (not really) town. Their son, nobody knew what exactly happened to him, but it was said that the boy's spirits had come back, wailing and venturing the streets, searching for their infant son in a wispy, light blue.

It had been almost fourteen years since the incident. The boy was suspected to have died, yet some had caught glimpses of said boy, demolishing their thoughts at the instant they caught sight of the young face. The boy would come to the town often, preferring to stay in the graveyard, next to two tombs, a rock statue engraved to show a joyful, beautiful woman, a man with wiry glasses, ruffled hair and a big smile on his face, both holding a small baby, who looked happy if there was any other word. The graves were set near to a tree, where the boy would lean on - they had noticed him talking, and even seen some stray tears unknowingly leaking from his eyes, but there was really no telling, as he always appeared in the midst of the night. They didn't know how lonely this boy felt. How unloved, how he had to stay every summer with the people who hate him the most, all because of his batty, old headmaster who refused to let him stay at least a night at his boarding school. They didn't know how his extraordinarily green eyes filled with tears whenever he looked at his pasted, unoriginal 'home', how he always came back to the school, skinnier than before, a deadened look in his cerulean eyes, hidden bruises scattered across his body, occasional scars on his back, legs, arms and anywhere away from prying eyes. Nobody noticed how unnaturally short he was, despite his parents being tall for their ages, and how malnourished he looked. They only noticed his presence when he came, walking to the tombstones of the parents he barely knew, ranting to them about god-knows-what, his head often resting in his hands, but they never noticed him crying. Only tears. But he couldn't cry. That was weakness, and it could be used against him. He _despised_ the thought of it - being weak. He knew he was not. But for now, he would just rest. Let himself succumb to his emotions and shatter at the mere sight of the Potters' graves. Nobody noticed, not how unlucky young Hadrian Potter was.


	2. Black-Haired Boy and the Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a short boy lurking around Godric's Hollow. Shoulder-length, black hair with an unknown shade of bright green as eyes. Just who is he? And who is that who talks to him that night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter, here it is! (sorry for it being so damn short)

Sunday 27th August 1995

The people of Godric's Hollow had heard about the Potter's fate, but only that they had been murdered, and their son had miraculously survived. Nobody had seen the boy before until what would've been his thirteenth birthday. It had been a year since the boy had stopped visiting until he came back, only a bit taller, and his face had drastically changed - for the better, the middle-aged mothers would coo sickeningly on their front porches to their book-club friends, drinking wine and laying back, relaxed, in their beach chairs. The boy - Hadrian Potter, people had found out - was a very odd boy. He would only come to the Hollow's local graveyard at approximately midnight, looking downcast and sad the majority of the time, his emerald eyes seemed to glow in the midnight, his hair, more black than that of a raven's wing, pulled back with some sort of invisible force (or maybe a ribbon, a child, around four, had suggested), looked silky and smooth, something that some of the Hollow's teenage girls envied. The Potter looked around 5'7, not very tall for his age, he had a skinny, slender body, not at all looking like he'd just been malnourished, his face seemed as if it had been sculpted by the gods themselves. He had perfect, fair skin, acorn-shaped eyes that he had inherited from his mother, and the same, brighter-than-emerald green shading of the colour of his eyes which they had never seen brightened and happy before. The boy, also, had always visited the Hollow wearing nothing but black clothes. He would occasionally wear a dark grey - but nearly always black. Nobody understood this until they had seen him enter the graveyard, staring blankly at his parents' graves - they thought. His clothes looked expensive, tailored and very well-made, normally dark, silk shirts, jet black slacks, and black shoes, and people couldn't help but think it looked good on him.

Whenever he sat down under his normal seat, under the tree and next to the stone statue and the two identical tombstones, his hair had always curtained his well-structured face, hiding the raw emotion in his cerulean green eyes. Oh, how this boy wished he was loved, to have a proper family, maybe. He wished to live with his two godfathers, his other two aunts, and his cousin whom he had just found out he had. In the end, the boy decided that he _hated_ the cursed life that Fate had given him.

-

Leaves crunched under the leather shoes, slowly rising from their crumpled state as the shoes moved forward, heading towards a gated area, sleek, black paint chipping off of the metal, flakes scattering onto the overgrown grass in front. A pale and skinny hand removed itself from the warmth of a pocket and reached out towards a broken gate, which swung dangerously on its hinges, creating a loud creaking noise whenever it moved, adding an almost horrific and terrifying atmosphere. The hand slowly pushed the gate open, accidentally swinging it too hard, causing it to slip off of the hinges and quietly crash onto the awaiting grass on the other side. A voice sighed, puffs of almost transparent, cold air following behind the action, wafting into the air. The owner of the shoes shook their heads, it looked like, and walked straight into where they had originally wanted to go. The person shivered as a harsh gust of wind whirled and shot its way towards them, blasting them full-force, their cheeks dusting a pale pink and the tip of their nose already a bright red, making them tuck their chin into their zipped-up, black jacket as if to hide in it and never come out, which they felt like doing at the moment. The same, low voice sighed once more and walked in a more brisk way, heading towards two, isolated, cracked tombstones, the engravements on the hard stone just about visible to read, yet not quite. The person crouched down in front of them, a shivering hand wrapping around something in their pocket, pulling it out and resting it on the dirt in front of the stones, smiling slowly and carefully to themselves. A necklace. Anyone would realize that. It was silver, crafted in a talented and elegant way, the metal swirling around itself, creating an attractive pattern, and on the end hung the brightest, blue diamond that anyone could ever see. The hand didn't go back into the pocket of the black jacket. Instead, it reached out again, the fingers lightly grazing the sharp writing in one of the stones, emerald eyes looking at it sadly, barely concealed sadness shining inside of them. The leaves loudly shuffled behind the figure, but he paid it no matter, instead deciding to fully focus on the small details of his mother's grave. It had been cracked lightly in some places, mainly the arched top of the tombstone, and some stone cracking off by now, vines climbing their way up onto the cold stone, creating an almost aesthetic look to it - as stupid as it may sound.

"I knew her, you know." a quiet voice whispered from behind the relaxed boy, who started and quickly turned around, being met with a kind-faced woman, who still looked deathly stern and who equipped an aristocratic physical appearance, much like himself. This woman had black and blonde hair, half-up, half-down, and had shining, grey eyes which looked at him fondly, looking like a girl who wasn't able to see her best friend in ages. Perhaps this was that girl - well, _woman_. He looked at her curiously, his dark, perfectly-shaped eyebrows furrowing and his nose scrunching the slightest. She didn't look... _normal_. The woman was wearing a long, black cloak which reached the floor and a very neat dress underneath, not at all looking like the local mother or teenager that prowled the ancient streets of Godric's Hollow.  
"It seems silly of me not to introduce myself," she said, still in that quiet tone from before, walking over to him almost cautiously and sitting down next to him, even if it looked quite uncomfy, "I'm Narcissa Malfoy. I was a very close friend of your mother's and her sisters' as well. It was a pity she died so young." the woman - Narcissa - told him, looking uncomfortable with what she had to say and didn't meet his eyes, and he gladly did the same. It was awkward, talking to your sworn enemy's mother who just-so-happened to be your dead mother's best friend. But he thought it best to not comment.  
"Lily made me your godmother, Sirius your godfather. I assume you know this? About Sirius?" He only nodded, unable to say anything at the moment, and felt a sort of growing warmth in his chest at the mention of his beloved godfather, Sirius Black the second. Narcissa Malfoy stood up, suddenly, and sent him a heart-warming, yet small smile, which he practically basked in. He didn't get many often these days. He found it easy to smile back at the woman, who seemed pleased at his reaction, before turning back and sending him another one of those smiles.  
"I suspect we'll see each other soon, Mr. Potter." Narcissa Malfoy whispered before disappearing with an ear-shattering crack. The dark-haired boy tilted his head to the side and sighed, shaking his head and turning back to the tombstones solemnly. Nothing else was visible to him except the writing - the reminder of his parents' early deaths. He stood up, unable to look back at the two stones, and started to walk back to the entrance, where he had entered from. Back through the broken gate and the fences that paint chipped off on. Although he couldn't bear to look back, he did. _A constant reminder of their deaths._ the boy thought, idly staring at them from afar, _My fault_. If he were a stupider man, he would've said at that moment that there had been a soft crooning noise in his ear, an almost sad tone to it that sounded so much like a voice he had heard before, but _where was it from_? He didn't know. 

**LILLIAN POTTER JAMES POTTER  
30/01/60 - 13/9/81 27/03/60 - 31/9/81**

_**The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death** _


	3. Sirius and Bellatrix Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1982, the two most feared wizarding criminals escape together from Britain's most protected prison. 1983, Hadrian Potter goes missing from his muggle home in Surrey. Now, how exactly do two, Azkaban-escapee cousins with mutual hate for each other fit into the problem of the missing Potter?

> " _I_ _t does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live_ "  
>  _-Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone._

November 21st, 1982

Coldness engulfed the malnourished figure, that sat huddled in the corner of a small, dingy and moldy cell, tears streaming down his grimy face. It had been around a year and a few since he had been tossed carelessly into Azkaban, the man he saw as a fun, loving grandfather who hadn't done anything to help him. Black, cloaked figures with ugly, distorted faces seemed to cackle at his depressed emotions, wafting around the cells of the high-security Azkaban cells, where he could hear the anguished cries of other prisoners, and he didn't have to see them, to know that they were most likely writhing on the floor in pain. Sirius Black the second, that's who he was. The outcast of the ancient and noble Black family, a run-away teenager at sixteen, blasted off of his family tapestry and left to go to his best friend's. Best friend. James Potter. Oh, how he missed him, James Potter had been his friend since they had met on the Hogwarts Express, and Sirius could never begin to explain how grateful he was for the raven-haired man. 

They had thought _he_ did it. That _he_ had betrayed his best friend and his wife, Lillian. And baby Harry, him and Remus Lupin's godson. When he had been named godfather to the small baby, he had felt a type of happiness that couldn't be broken until - well, I don't know. Sirius clenched his fists and curled his body up tighter, drawing his bruised knees up to his chest and hugging them tightly, remembering the blank look on James Potter's face, when he had found him - _dead_. James and Lily were dead because of a man that they had considered a friend - a brother. Peter Pettigrew. The rat scum had been working for the opposite side, he had given away the location of James, Lily, and young Harry for his own good, because of his cowardice which had resulted in their deaths. Seeing Lily's body on the floor, in front of her son's crib, the crying baby looking down at his mother's still body, his emerald eyes - so much like Lily's - looked almost curiously at the red-head on the floor, her identical green eyes lifeless, just like her husband.

Sirius really had tried to bring Harry to his home, or perhaps Remus Lupin, who was better at parenting than he could ever be. Until the half-giant, Hagrid, had to ruin everything for him, and forcefully snatch his infant godson from him, nick his motorbike, and fly somewhere. But Sirius knew it wasn't the man's fault. Dumbledore. If anything, Sirius would bet his Gringotts' vaults that Dumbledore had ordered Hagrid to bring Harry to him, even if force needed to be included. There was an almost itching sensation in Sirius' head when Hagrid had left, telling him repeatedly to go after Pettigrew and avenge Lily and James' deaths. When he hadn't seen Peter in his hide-out when the Fidelius Charm on the Potter cottage in Godric's Hollow had fallen, the Black had been _livid_. He had cornered the rat, but he had never understood exactly _where_ the man's courage had come from, as he had 'sadly' cried out that _Sirius_ had in fact, been the one to murder his best friends, then the filthy vermin even had the _audacity_ to blast the street, killing twelve muggles, cut off his finger and turned into his animagus form, a brown rat, leaving people to believe that Peter was dead and Sirius had killed him.

The Aurors had immediately arrested him on the spot, saying that there was enough evidence that he was a criminal and had been the cause of many people's death, then ordered a life sentence in Azkaban, _then_ became an extremely feared criminal in both Muggle and Wizarding worlds. The chill had thankfully gone away, and all that was left was a feeling of drowsiness and helplessness.  
"Don't be so glum, cousin." a maniacal voice cackled from another cell. He sighed, having a feeling he knew _exactly_ who said that. His body shuffled towards the iron bars of his cell, his grey eyes scanning the area until they fell on a woman in front of his cell, and she too was in one. The woman tilted her head to the side at his look and gave him a shark-like grin, sending shivers down his spine, though he would never admit that his insane cousin was scaring him. That information alone was too much for his pride to handle.

The woman looked disheveled, but when did she not look like that? She had a wild mane of black, curly hair, her sunken face had shifted into a taunting way, her violet eyes watching him as if she would want nothing more to reach out and strangle him, she wore a dingy uniform that the prisoners of the hell-spawn prison had to wear, she had half-lidded eyes that seemed to bore into your very soul, it looked as if her lips were permanently pulled into a sneer and all in all, the woman looked insane. Sirius thought it might be a trait of the Black family.  
"Yes, yes. I might as well throw a party as I feel so happy." Sirius shot back. He didn't intend for it to rhyme, but now that he had said it out loud, he couldn't help but think it sounded a bit idiotic. His cousin glared at him and sneered, turning her back to him and refusing to acknowledge his curious looks.  
"You're the craziest woman I've ever met aside from your sister, Bella," he started, and that seemed to get his attention as she turned to him, her purple eyes concealing any emotion she felt, but he could see that she felt saddened at the mention of her sister, "why don't you try to break out? I hate to admit it, but you're pretty powerful."   
'Bella' seemed to think over what he said and frowned, her crazy-composure was rid and she shifted her body to fully turn to her slightly-younger cousin.  
"If I recall, _blood-traitor_ ," she snarled out, biting her words on the 'pet name' that she had given him, "you're an animagus," at his bewildered look, Bella scoffed and rolled her eyes, "Do you take me as an idiot, Sirius?" Sirius thought over her question and felt the need to nod, but decided against it and furrowed his eyebrows, shaking his head slowly.

"Good." the deranged woman cooed, grinning her signature smile. Sirius glared at her and huffed, puffs of cold air wafting after the action.  
"What do you expect me to do? Shift and slide out the bars before helping you out?" Bella tilted her head again and smiled, nodding at him and clenching her hands around the rusty bars of her Azkaban cell, her face dangerously close to touching the disgusting things. Sirius gave her a shocked look before once again, thinking it over. It wasn't actually a bad idea. And plus, more publicity for him, being the first one to break out of Azkaban without outside help. What could he say? He _did_ love the spotlight, and he thinks that Azkaban had driven him loopy, though hopefully not as much as his two female cousins and his mother who was a fanatic for the Dark Lord.  
"That _has_ to be one of the stupidest yet smart plans I've ever heard," Sirius told her after a while, grinning at her wide eyes, though it came off looking extremely crazy, which even made _her_ , Bellatrix Lestrange, shiver.

-

The fresh breeze of the outside world engulfed the two Blacks - well, of course. This was not the situation. 

"Hurry up, you crazy bitch!" Sirius barked at his cousin, Bellatrix, who was too busy raking her fingers through her hair. Her eyes snapped to his glaring face and she sneered at him.  
"Don't be so impatient, then!" she screamed back, her violet eyes seeming to glow at her anger. Sirius cringed in disgust at her and continued walking through the dark hallways of Azkaban, ignoring the screams and pleads of other prisoners begging to be set free as well. He heard clicking behind him and turned to see Bellatrix running towards him, panting, and her cheeks flushed red.   
" _You - are - the - m-most - idiot-tic - person - EVER_!" Bellatrix shrieked between catches of breath, Sirius snickered at her and shook his head, then continued to walk again, Bellatrix still fuming behind him and petulantly glaring at his back.

-

"Well, that was something, wasn't it?" Sirius muttered to himself, yelping when he was blown off his feet when gusts of waves from the North Sea hit him, causing Bellatrix to cackle at him in delight.  
" _Shut up_." the man hissed under his breath, his cheeks a bright red in embarrassment. He stood up and, in disgust, picked some seaweed off of his prisoner uniform trousers, throwing them back into the salty water which looked like it was running away from them.   
"Since you literally _cannot_ shut up about your nephew, we'll go collect him when we're strong enough." Sirius panted out, raking a rough hand through his shoulder-length hair which was matted and tangled. Bellatrix squealed in bliss and nodded, bouncing on the balls of her feet at the thought of going to see her nephew (NOT Draco, if you read the tags, Narcissa isn't a Black in this). 

-

**THE DAILY PROPHET**

**HEIR POTTER - MISSING? BELLATRIX LESTRANGE AND SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN  
  
** _Yes, you heard it, dear readers! Yesterday, it was discovered that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the defeater of You-Know-Who and the only survivor of the Killing Curse, wasn't found in his muggle home, though Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, refused to tell the location of the now three-year-old boy. Heir Potter's muggle relatives (his aunt, uncle, and cousin), were found in a wine cellar of a muggle bar, tied up and shaking violently - the said effects of the Cruciatus Curse. The previous day from this event, high-security prisoners Bellatrix Lestrange, a known Death Eater, and her cousin, Sirius Black, the murderer of twelve muggles, James and Lily Potter, and Peter Pettigrew, and a huge supporter of You-Know-Who, had miraculously escaped from their cells in Azkaban! There was found to be no damage on Black's cell, though the bars on his cousin's cell had been bent, allowing the woman to slide through._

_It is a known fact that Sirius Black had gone against his family in supporting the Dark, and had joined his best friend, James Potter, whose family, the Potters, are a known Light family, working for Dumbledore. Sirius Black was found to be the Secret Keeper of the Potters, leading You-Know-Who to them, resulting in the death of the Potter Lord and Lady. There are many muggle and wizard/witch witnesses, as they had supposedly seen Black and Lestrange, and many muggles had to have been Obliviated.  
"James Potter and Sirius Black were practically inseparable at school, it's a mystery on why _now _Black is working with his cousin, Bellatrix, and became a Death Eater." Poppy Pomfrey, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Healer, says.  
"I was just walking to the local store when I saw two people, a man, and a woman, wearing striped clothes and manic looks on their faces. Scared me half to death." an elderly wizard says, a suspected witness of Black and Lestrange's sightings._

_Black's faith in You-Know-Who had led him to murder his friend and his wife, and attempted to do so to their child, Heir Potter. The two cousins are known for being from the Black family, an ancient and noble Pureblood line, and the genetical madness had apparently not ceased, as it is obvious that Bellatrix Lestrange and her twin sister, whose identity is unknown, and Sirius Black, had inherited the trait.  
_

__**Page 3 for the Black family**  
Page 2 for Heir Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived  
Page 5 on the Black triplets, Andromeda, Bellatrix, and an unknown. 

In an ancient castle somewhere in Scotland, Albus Dumbledore sighed from his office, his phoenix not seemed the least bit disturbed.


	4. Andromeda Tonks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petunia and Vernon Dursley decide it's best to send their 'nephew' over to St. Wool's Orphanage for Unwanted Children. A furious woman comes in a year later with her daughter, adopts the boy (who she says is her nephew), and introduces herself as Andromeda Tonks, one of the three sisters of Black.

> _"It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be."  
> _ \- _Professor Albus Dumbledore_

The nights of winter were the toughest for the children of St. Wool's Orphanage. Uncared, cold, unfed, and left to sleep in dingy beds with thin blankets and even thinner bedclothes. It was no surprise if a child came down with a cold the very next morning and left untreated, as the matron, Mrs. Cole, despised children. And sick children? She would've offed herself had she not been getting pay monthly for looking after them. Mrs. Cole hated anything out of the ordinary, loved the orphanage bullies, thought that they could do no wrong, and she absolutely _hated_ the small boy who had been placed in Room 69, undoubtedly quite beautiful, with almost shoulder-length, raven hair, alabaster, fair skin and the greenest eyes she had ever seen. Yes, Hadrian Potter-Black was the bane of her existence. Freaky things would constantly happen around the toddler, such as objects mysteriously levitating, a child's pet had been murdered - she had put all the blame on him, as the owner of the pet had been bullying him repeatedly -, and for this, she had hired priests to exorcise him, to pry the demon away from his youthful soul. The boy never reacted. He never did. Instead of screeching in a high-pitched tone like a normal person would do if they had a soul-sucking demon inside of them, he tilted his head at the priests and sneered - quite an impressive feat for a three-year-old, she grudgingly admitted. _Sneered_. The boy had sneered at them and started hissing, nothing as she had ever heard before.

It sounded demonic, like there in fact _was_ Satan himself inside his body, possessing him. But no, she realized. There was no demon, only him. The priests, at the hissing noises, had gotten such a fright that one even had a heart attack, two had fainted and one vomited after the attempted un-possession. Mrs. Cole saw how the boy smirked at them (still, surprising for a toddler) and couldn't stop thinking, maybe there was something much more than a demon. But what was worse than Satan himself? The boy was emotionless, the other matrons had noticed as well, how he showed no remorse for the killing of poor Hector Brown's cat (it had been disemboweled with a rusty spoon he had found, its eyes gouged out and mutilated) and none, except a brave few, had still dared to go up against Hadrian Potter-Black. 

No-one at the orphanage knew anything about the boy's parents, only that they had passed away and the boy was sent to his loving, doting, caring and hard-working aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley, who had gotten rid of him only a year later after receiving the boy on their doorstep on the first of November. Mrs. Cole couldn't blame them - she wouldn't want a satanic child like that in _her_ house either. From what the Dursley adults had told her, the boy had supposedly crawled out of where he was sleeping (they had never said where, though) and had gone to their precious _Dudder_ 's bedroom, and started to play with _his_ toys. Petunia Dursley had added that the toys, had in fact, been Hadrian's, and were found in the wreckage of his parents' house, which the two parents had taken greedily for their little pig rat. 

Even Mrs. Cole, who had taken a reluctant liking to Dudley Dursley, their son (one month or so older than Potter) she could admit that the boy was spoiled out of his mind, if he even had one, that is. He was, if not more, fatter than his father, and had - according to their pediatrician - now weighed around the size of a baby whale, and couldn't help but be the slightest bit disgusted with the parents. They were materialistic people, spending their every pound on things for themselves or many, grown-up things for their Dudley, such as video games, computers, TVs, cameras, headphones, iPads, and even some phones. There was no denying that the boy was too spoiled for his own good.

Mrs. Cole hated her sister, everybody at the orphanage knew that, and even some outsiders did. But no-one knew why. Mrs. Cole and Petunia Dursley had, somehow, both ended up with magical sisters, but Petunia had explained that her sister was adopted, there was no believing it was a lie, as the two looked extremely different. This was also the case with Mrs. Cole and her sister, minus the adopted bit. Her sister, now Mrs. Taylor, if she remembered right, hadn't talked to her ever since she had called her a freak, which had hurt her sister, but she was too stupid to realize it. The sisters hadn't talked in twenty years, Mrs. Cole had no problem without talking to Mrs. Taylor, whom she heard from their parents, had married John Taylor and had two children with him, Mrs. Taylor had explained that her husband was something called a half-blood, a mix between non-magical and purely magical blood. 

This piece of information made her wonder, though. Her sister had what wizards and witches call 'accidental magic', she could remember it clearly, and now, the same was happening with the Potter boy. Maybe _he_ was a wizard, too. But Mrs. Cole hated the magical world, for similar reasons as Petunia Dursley had, she was jealous. Jealous that it was her sister and not her that was a witch. Jealous that her sister was more successful, happier, and prettier than her, no doubt about that. So when Potter had had his first magical 'backlash' at her, when she had roughly grabbed him by the arm and had gotten stung by something, she started to worry. The orphanage's reputation wasn't great in the town, but when people found out she was housing a _wizard_ \- one that could speak to **snakes** as well -, she would be the ridicule of the place.

So when a tall woman holding hands with a small, three-year-old girl with bright, blonde hair and purple eyes came into her orphanage, walking up to the desk briskly, her child struggling to keep up with her, Mrs. Cole couldn't stop feeling curious about the stern-faced woman.  
" _I'd like to adopt a child, please._ " the woman had said, looking as if she wanted to sneer at Mrs. Cole when said woman stuttered and gave her a strange look. Mrs. Cole had been reluctant to hand one of the children over to the odd woman, who was wearing a... cloak, just like her sister, because she knew she was one of them, and most likely was her freakish child, whom she had just seen change hair colour with only a concentrated look on her face. Mrs. Cole had lined up all the children (Potter albeit hesitantly) all with hopeful looks on their faces. The now, blue-haired girl had squealed and pointed to someone, the small and short boy right next to Fawley Brown (Hector Brown's sister), making the children gasp and their faces go red in anger, jealousy, and rage.  
" _But - but... he's a **freak**!"_ Cassandra Williams had screamed, her eyes were furious for a nine-year-old. The tall woman smiled down at her daughter and nodded before turning her cold eyes back to Williams.

" _That... freak, just so happens to be my nephew who got into the wrong adults' hands._ " the woman snapped, making poor Cassandra about to cry at her harsh tone. She too had been shocked when the aunt of Potter had shown up and chosen him, but again, he was her nephew.  
" _Of... of course, Miss...?"_ Mrs. Cole trailed off, frowning at the woman who sneered at her impolitely yet somehow gracefully.  
" _Andromeda Tonks, but you shall refer to me as Lady Tonks."_ Mrs. Cole nodded fearfully and quickly walked over to the raven-haired toddler who'd looked like Christmas had come early (she had ruined it by telling the children Santa wasn't real and took delight in seeing their crestfallen faces).  
"Go." she hissed in his ear menacingly, glaring at the now-cowering boy.

She would never forget the day he left the orphanage, hand-in-hand with who looked like his cousin, the small girl about his age, and his aunt. Andromeda Black Tonks.


	5. Three Letters, Weasley(s) and a Granger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Hadrian's sorted into a non-Gryffindor house at Hogwarts, a certain, old Headmaster is fuming. Trouble grows and fears arise. Absolutely perfect. There's no way anything will go wrong. September 2nd comes, and three letters arrive for the last Potter. What will he find out? (Dumbledore and (minor) certain Weasley and Granger bashing in this chapter)

> _"To the well organised mind, death is but the next great adventure."  
>  -Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_
> 
> ~~_"I hope you're pleased with yourselves._ ~~  
>  ~~_We could all have been killed — or worse, expelled. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."  
>  -Hermione Granger, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ ~~

September 1st, 1991

She would never admit she cried. No, Andromeda Black did not cry the moment her nephew and daughter were on their way on the Hogwarts Express, to the school she had been at with her two sisters and cousins.

Andromeda saw her Nymphadora (she hated being called that) with her cousin, Hadrian, waving to her at one of the doors. She walked up to them and kissed both of them on the cheeks, suppressing a grin of pride (she had an image to hold up as a Black) when the train started to steam and set off, away from the platform. Younger children, most likely siblings to people on the trains, ran to try and catch up with specific windows and the train, while parents joyfully waved their kids off, some even wiping their faces with handkerchiefs.

The two children she had raised for nearly all their lives were finally leaving her, after being exceptionally clingy. There was no doubt that her Nymphadora was going into Hufflepuff, unlike herself (who was a Slytherin) and her father (a Ravenclaw). Hadrian on the other hand was quite different - but she knew there was no way the small boy would be getting into Gryffindor, he was much too shy and not loud at all for the house as he preferred studying over sports, but they were equal and liked the quiet, which he could no doubt possibly find in Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff or Slytherin.

Gryffindors had a tendency to be impossibly loud, yet were somehow the favourites of the house, and were always annoying, brash, vain and seemed to think they had some sort of rivalry with the Slytherins (goodness knows why they think that), and their most used insult for the Snakes was, also, no doubt 'slimy snakes', which was quite pathetic seeming as snakes aren't actually slimy. Not that they know that of course. Of course, there were only a few decent Gryffindors, but Andromeda couldn't name them all, as, aside from her cousin, Sirius, her sister's husband James, and Sirius' past husband, Lupin, she despised all Gryffindors, though the things that the house represents was something that she could at least respect the tiniest bit.

Andromeda was struck out of her thoughts as the platform went silent - the train had just fully left and only the quiet (aside from chatting parents) was left. She briskly walked towards the floo-ing stations and stepped in one of the fireplaces, grabbing a handful of green powder ~~dust~~ and disappearing in a flurry of emerald flames.

-

 _Oh, this was perfect_. The Potter spawn would be coming to Hogwarts this year, and if everything went correctly, he would be able to finally succeed in his plans - as long as the timing was correct and nothing messed up from what he had done. Two specific people wouldn't know what hit him - or more specifically, their son. Well, they wouldn't know that, because they were most likely trapped somewhere he had put them. Yes, yes. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was a mad genius - nobody could compare to him. His power and magical core were unmatched! And his influence - and once he had gotten his grimy hands on the galleons and priceless artifacts in the Potters' vaults, he would be the richest and most powerful man in the entirety of Britain - _and perhaps maybe even the world_!

Albus considered himself an evil genius, and a prodigy, and more. A very vain man he was - this had sprouted when Albus had locked up his lover in Nurmengard and had gained mad respect from people saying that he 'had defeated a Dark Lord', but he just, in reality, locked Grindelwald up. The man had killed his sister anyway, and he still missed her. So for what Gellert did - he would never forget or forgive. It had hurt him more than he would like to admit, losing Ariana. But she was just a useless squib anyway, and Aberforth - the idiot - was just... useless. No help to his future plans at all, for the Greater Good.

And if Albus would choose to get his sister and lover back, or continue his evil schemes. He'd pick the latter. He didn't care for Grindelwald, and he had barely known his sister anyways, though he did suspect she had started to haunt his office - _god damn that woman's nerve_. But it's not like Ariana could live that long to become an actual woman anyway.

He was getting off track. Dumbledore sat at the Headmaster's seat in the Great Hall, watching the students chatting among themselves until the doors to the Hall opened and in stepped his deputy, Minerva McGonagall, with a long train of first years behind her. From where he was sitting, Albus could see a boy with a head of flames, a short boy with a smushed face, a girl with a pug face, a boy with pointed and albino features, his head held up proudly much like a peacock. He could see a girl with beaver-like teeth, brown, bushy hair, and chocolate eyes. But _where_ in the name of- oh _there_ he was. A boy, quite taller than most of the girls yet shorter than all of the boys, with black hair the colour of a raven's feathers, soft, fair skin, expensive-looking robes, his hair fell down just above his shoulders, giving him the perfect pureblood Heir look, he had a soft yet pointed face, and haunting, green eyes. Oh, and he stood next to a girl who looked quite similar to him, but she had... bubblegum pink hair? 

Albus wondered whether or not he should try out that hair colour, perhaps a little brighter would do the trick. His hair was all grey and he desperately needed a haircut. Breaking himself out of his thoughts, he looked down and watched the Transfiguration Professor start to sort students. It was no surprise to him that 'Malfoy, Draco' had been sorted into Slytherin in a split second. 'Tonks, Nymphadora' was called out and sorted into Hufflepuff, 'Bones, Susan' was also, as well as 'Finch-Fletchley, Justin' and 'Abbott, Hannah' joined them in the house of badgers. A muggle-born, 'Granger, Hermione' had also been sorted into Gryffindor.

'Patil, Padma' was sorted into Ravenclaw, her twin Parvati into Gryffindor, 'Parkinson, Pansy' was sorted into Slytherin, 'Perks, Sally-Anne' was sorted into Gryffindor. Finally, it was Potter's turn. McGonagall looked at the parchment in her hands and let herself give a small smile to herself at the scrawled out writing she saw.  
'Potter-Black, Hadrian.' she said, louder than the other students'. The hall went silent and everyone watched as a boy (who looked at least nine) stepped out nervously, fiddling with his fingers and making his way towards the four-legged stool. The sorting hat was placed on his head, slipping over his eyes, and the last thing he saw was people craning their necks to look at him, some even pushing people out of the way, and whispers arising throughout the Hall.

' _Difficult one, Mr. Potter, just like your mother - a fierce woman indeed..._ '   
He almost jumped as he heard a voice speaking inside his head, talking about his mother whom he'd only heard stories and seen pictures of. The Potter's eyes nearly teared up at the thought of his mother - he had missed her whenever Andromeda had told him stories about his mother and father.  
' _No, no... Gryffindor wouldn't do - neither would Hufflepuff..._ ' he heard the voice muttering to itself, digging through his mind while Hadrian wondered about who in the name of Merlin decided it would be good to make a _talking hat_.

Andromeda had told him all about his mother, father, grandparents, and godparents, how his first godfather, Sirius Black, had gotten himself locked up for 'betraying' the Potters that night, how his second godfather, Remus Lupin, was banned from seeing him for some unknown reason. His godmother, Narcissa Malfoy, a close friend to Andromeda (if you're confused about this, Narcissa is NOT a Black in this story so I'll most likely be making up her family or something (she's still a pureblood)), his other godmother (he had a whole ton of those), pureblood Alice Longbottom, who had been tortured into insanity by Andromeda's sister, Bellatrix Lestrange - who was serving her time in a cell next to his godfather, Sirius, in Azkaban.

' _Alright... yes.. this will do.'_ The hat finally said, before screaming out a deafening ' _RAVENCLAW_ '. The hall was silent until students in blue robes shot up and started to cheer as he felt the hat being lifted off of his head. He turned around and saw an old man, probably the Headmaster, frowning at him, and felt a stabbing sensation in his mind as they made eye contact. He wondered what that was about. Hadrian walked over to the cheering table and was met with pats on the back and his hand being shaken softly. His head turned to look at the Head Table while catching a glimpse of the pink-haired Hufflepuff who grinned at him (which he returned) and saw a greasy looking man with sallow skin glaring drills into the side of his head, his onyx eyes not betraying any emotions other than slight surprise and undying hatred.

A nervous-looking man beside him quivered as he caught sight of the glaring man, his big, purple turban on his head shuffled as he turned his head, making Hadrian frown and sit down after the Ravenclaw table's cheers had died down. There was a tiny man at the table, most likely half-goblin, looking at him appraisingly before giving him a small smile, his eyes gaining a glint that could only be seen as familiarity. The sorting ended with 'Zabini, Blaise' being sorted into Slytherin as well, McGonagall put away the stool, hat, and the parchment and sat down at her place on the Head Table just as Dumbledore stood up and opened his arms 'welcomingly'.

'Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words,' Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling as they hovered over the students, the slightest flicker of disgust in his eyes as he lay them on the green-robed Slytherins, 'And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!' He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not. And then, rows upon rows of food layered itself on the table, the first years looking at it in awe while the higher years dug in, placing food on their golden plates.

It was more food than Harry had ever seen, even at his home! He eagerly took some food and put it on his plate, not forgetting what Andromeda had told him - ' _Eat nicely, with manners._ ' she had sternly scolded him. A girl accidentally nudged him in the side, making him mentally yelp. She turned to him in a panic with wide eyes,  
'Oh, I'm so sorry! Could you please pass the potatoes?' the girl asked in a rush as if fearing she had done something wrong. Harry looked at her curiously before nodding, sliding over the plate of potatoes towards the girl, who gratefully smiled at him, which he didn't bother to return.

He couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. There was this small probing in his mind - it had been going on for the entirety of the Feast and had started when he had looked at the headmaster directly. What was going on?

-

It was the after of the Start-Of-Year Feast and Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk in his office, pacing internally as it had always helped him think. The boy - Potter - had been sorted into Ravenclaw. _Ravenclaw_. Not Gryffindor, like he had hoped (and confunded the hat to do so). Sweet gods, at least the boy wasn't Slytherin. He couldn't even fathom the thought of Potter finding out about his plans and the things that are hidden from him. And Albus Dumbledore would make sure they never got out - especially to the green-eyed boy.

Not all hope was lost. Ravenclaws were smart, and surely Potter would see the right-ness of joining the Light side, so he could fight for Albus and die defeating the Dark Lord Voldemort. Albus had already defeated Grindelwald, but Voldemort? That was too much. Old age was catching up to Dumbledore, and he knew that his time would be coming, even if he was an incredibly powerful wizard, the best since Merlin.

Young Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, however, would be playing a major part in his plans, as well as others he had yet to figure out, but he was smart, amazing, witty, powerful, cunning, insightful, hard-working and was handsome in youth, so he would find out sooner or later. On second thought, perhaps Severus Snape would be willing to join - Albus _did_ need to brew some very tough potions, and Snape was the youngest Potions Master (ever or in Britain? I forgot).

He needed some sleep, or else he'd fall and crumble onto the floor. And prideful as he was, Dumbledore did _not_ want to be found in such an embarrassing and shameful way - on the floor in deep sleep. 

-

September 2nd, 1991

Classes went smoothly the next day, though the food did taste somewhat weirder, it was most likely from the giddy-ness that Hadrian felt. He had already gone to Transfiguration and Charms, both of which his teachers adored him already, much to the irk of his classmates, and had done excellently performing the spells and explaining the theory (also, much to Hermione Granger's anger). He sat at the Ravenclaw table - it was nearing Dinner and he had gotten off early by Flitwick, when three owls came zooming into the Hall, all dropping in front of him and had a letter - one even had a parcel. 

The first was a regal, grey owl with a sharp beak and proud, violet eyes who held out its leg to it (he untied the letter afterward, the owl had taken a huge liking to him). The second was an old, brown owl with tired eyes and greying feathers who looked absolutely exhausted and was carrying the parcel and a letter as well. The last was much like the first, rich and expensive-looking, with pure white feathers and blue eyes. He took the three letters and the parcel, looking at them in confusion, considering which one to open first.

He decided to go for the one the first owl had given him, then the third, and lastly the second owl. Hadrian opened the letter and frowned.

Dear Heir Lord Potter,  
It has come to our attention at Gringotts that there have been some issues regarding the Main Potter Vaults and your Trust Vault. Please find a Portkey enclosed inside the envelope and it will bring you straight to us. Ask for Griphook at the front desk.   
Sincerely,  
Griphook,  
Potter Account Manager

Hadrian tilted his head to the side and furrowed his eyebrows and set it aside, turning to look at the other two and decided to open the third one he'd gotten. It was some sort of newspaper. 

**THE DAILY PROPHET**

Where the first words he'd read. Andromeda had told him about the _Prophet_ and how the writer, Rita Skeeter, drags people's names through the dirt and shifts their words into more vulgar things that twist their reputation. A sinking feeling in his stomach told him that whatever was written in the Prophet would not be good.

**BREAK-IN AT GRINGOTTS**

_**Believed to be the work of dark wizards or witches unknown, Gringotts goblins, while acknowledging the breach, insist nothing was taken. The vault in question had, in fact, been emptied the very same day. "But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you", said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon. Gringotts now need to readdress their security system. Goblin security specialists are combing the land for a better breed of security dragon to replace the now deemed useless existing ones. They are even going as far as examining Muggle security systems. Gringotts need to get another security system in place before any more breaches occur. Wizards, witches all over the country are scratching their heads wondering how safe their money is in the so-called safest wizard bank. Head goblins are urging the wizarding community for calm.** _

There was no date when the thing inside the vault had been stolen - but the Potter was almost certain he knew which one it was. Vault 713 was emptied on his birthday, July 31st. He knew this because Andromeda and Professor McGonagall had always been close, and McGonagall was the one to go and fetch whatever was inside the vault. The Potter's eyes unknowingly darted to a fidgety Professor Quirrel who was stuttering answers to their Potions Professor Snape and felt his suspicions rise when he detected a sliver of another's magic twirled within his DADA teacher's.

The last letter - he didn't know who it was from - was written on obviously old parchment which looked incredibly worn out, much like the owl that had delivered it. He opened it and felt an odd just of warm wind hit his face and gave the sensation that it was going into his body. It didn't feel right, but he let it slide for now.

_Dear Harry,_

_Ron has told me all about your friendship, and I would love to  
see you at the Burrow. Our little Ginny is a very sweet girl and loved  
to hear your stories when she was younger, maybe you'd get along  
with her. From today, you're now considered an honorary Weasley, and  
I have to thank you for being friends with my Ron, as he never had many  
friends in here. _

_It must be absolutely devastating to learn that you've been sorted into another  
house that isn't Gryffindor, to honour your parents' memories, as they, too, were  
Gryffindors. Hermione has been telling us all about how you want to resort,  
so we're settling things with the headmaster, Dumbledore. You seem like a very  
kind boy and it'd be a great opportunity to spend Christmas with you - purebloods  
tend to call it 'Yule' but don't worry about that, dear, the pureblood traditions are complete  
hogwash anyways._

_Happy to see you at the Burrow,  
Your friend's mother,  
Molly Weasley_

Words could not describe how _agitated_ the raven-haired eleven-year-old was - _honour his parents' memories_? He hadn't even known them, aside from a few things he _could_ remember, but those memories also consisted of three or two other men in some sort of house - a cottage, he'd guess. Who was this Molly Weasley to assume that _he_ wants to be sorted into another house, just because a low-life Muggleborn with no extraordinary talent told her so? He quickly calmed himself down forcefully as he noticed his magical 'temperatures' rising, and it wouldn't do good if he just miraculously blew the hall up because of accidental magic that was caused by a poor, red-head woman's note to him.

Hadrian shook his head and frowned, looking at the odd, badly-wrapped parcel next to the letter, and sighed, eyeing it suspiciously. He was about to grab his wand and blow it up when he felt a presence force its way next to him and a heavy hand drape itself across his scrawny (but not really) shoulders. His vision was covered by a mass of bushy, brown hair, and arms tightly squeezing around him.  
'Oh, Harry! You got the letter!' a female voice squealed, hugging him impossibly tighter, making him groan in discomfort. Instantly, the hands unwrapped themselves from around him and he could now see Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley looking at him in excitement - but there was something weird about the looks that he couldn't tell what. 

He was a Ravenclaw, for Merlin's sake. His head shouldn't be this... _cloudy_. Ron's expression seemed to brighten at the sight of the parcel and his face broke out into a huge grin.  
'Mum's given you a Weasley jumper, mate. We only get them for Christmas, but you get one now!' Ron Weasley rambled, his cheeks flushing red as he hadn't taken a proper breath to actually talk.   
'Weasley jumper, why would I need one of _those_?' Hadrian asked, he did try to keep the venom out of his voice. He was - honestly - used to the best types of clothing, and he knew the Weasleys didn't have the privilege of money, hence why most of their belongings are second-handed, and he did really hope he didn't sound like the stuck-up Slytherin, Draco Malfoy, a poncy git who believes he's better than everyone just because of his last name. Honestly, you don't see _him_ flaunting his money, fame, and name to the public, that would only make things worse and destroy his reputation - and Andromeda had taught him that reputation is good at times and even better in more.

Ron made a sort of sound of disbelief and rolled his eyes at the green-eyed, smaller boy.  
'You're an honorary Weasley, mate. Didn't mum say that in the letter?' Hadrian wondered how exactly did the Weasley know what his mother wrote when he hadn't even seen him reading the actual note? He couldn't think right now, his brain felt extremely fuzzy and he felt unable to think. Hermione gripped his hand extremely tight, and he thought he might've felt something pour onto his hand, but he'd investigate it later when he could clear his head. He felt ridiculously light-headed and it seemed like his insides had started to squirm. It was an unsettling thought and a disgusting thing to say, but it was the truth - he felt terrible like he'd throw up a million times, pass out, and never wake up. And seriously? That didn't sound like a bad thing at that moment.  
'You look tired, Harry. Why don't you go to sleep, and we'll take care of your letters?' Hermione softly asked him, tilting her head to the side and smiling at him, her large front teeth wide on display that almost made him gag.

Hadrian absentmindedly nodded, even if the action felt wrong, and felt himself stand up and robotically walk towards the Ravenclaw common room, feeling worse than he ever had in his entire life. If the boy had turned around, he would see a smiling headmaster, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger grinning, and flames engulfing the letters, all except one. But that was something he'd never find out. And the headmaster would be sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not sure where i was going with this but it'll work i guess
> 
> some confusing areas where i didn't know what i was doing with it
> 
> sorry for that


End file.
